To paraphrase Oscar Wilde, all art is surface and subtext, and the artist dives beneath at his own peril. Mark Wright is a moderately successful artist, yet he understands what it is like to lose himself in his art, to go too deep, to cut to the bone and all the way to the cancerous growth of an artist's obsession. An obsession that will rob him him of every comfort and loving relationship to drive its own greedy existence. The lines between fantasy and reality blur, skew in and out of phase with each other. Nothing and everything is real.
Some things like the Wishing Well and the burning schoolchildren are too false; some things, like an insane ex with scores to settle and an axe to grind, too murderously real in this woodsy fantasyland.
The reach of The Lost Village is long, its appetite mean. Nobody would get out alive...